


Arkansas (Fire)

by JustCrushALot



Series: Oh, the places we'll go. [4]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Song fic, State fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustCrushALot/pseuds/JustCrushALot
Summary: Christen owns a record store. Tobin loves music. It should be as easy as that, right?Sure, as long as their brains don't get in the way or anything.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: Oh, the places we'll go. [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973557
Comments: 22
Kudos: 193





	Arkansas (Fire)

**Author's Note:**

> [Fire- Waxahatchee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEyYlyRr2_U)

#### I take it for granted  
If I could love you unconditionally  
I could iron out the edges of the darkest sky  
For some of us, it ain't enough

* * *

She’s not always sure about the distinction between what happens in real life and what only happens in stories. Everything about her reality feels slightly duller than it seems for characters in books and movies, like she’s missing some fundamental part of the human experience. 

And, well, she kind of is. 

But, like— 

_Do people really glow when they are in love?_ Or, is it just something people say to make others feel supported and confident? She’s heard people tell others, “You’re glowing!” and she’s seen it in stories—characters who can just see that someone is in love by their glow. 

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen it in real life, though. But maybe she’s seen it and just not noticed? 

_There’s a lot she doesn’t notice._

* * *

“Chris?” the voice calling her from across a room shakes her from her thoughts. She slides the album she’s holding into its proper place in the record bin and looks up to see her co-worker walking her way. She’s wearing a large red badge that says “Megan.” 

“What’s up, P?”

“I am going to go take my 15, mind watching the front?”

“I got it.” Christen replies, setting the records waiting to be sorted on the shelf underneath the bin. 

Once Megan is out the door, she sighs deeply and sends a quiet wish into the universe that they have no customers for 15 minutes. It’s not that Christen dislikes working the front of the store, she’s just much more prone to error in that role. Still, the shop has been quiet today; they’ve mostly been filling online orders with a customer or two coming in. So, she’s not too nervous. And it’ll only be for 15 minutes or so.

Christen settles behind the counter and starts to print out the shipping labels for their next batch of orders. The bell on the door rings indicating someone is coming inside. 

She inhales slowly and intentionally, hoping she doesn’t know the person coming through the door.

She looks up to find a woman with long brown hair wearing a red Joy Division t-shirt, grey joggers, Nike sneakers, and a black snapback bearing the number 23. It strikes Christen immediately that she’s attractive. Despite the fact that her posture is almost slumped, she walks with a cool confidence that suggests she’s unbothered by the minutiae of things like first impressions or being what others want her to be.

“Welcome to The Vinyl Countdown, let me know if you have any questions,” Christen calls out to the new customer, who hums a thanks back and starts to browse. Christen returns to the labels but can’t help but feel that she’s being watched.

The woman moves around the store, looking through crates of records, but somehow never turns her back to Christen. Christen catches her stealing glances occasionally, but tries to ignore it. She really doesn’t think they know one another.

After about 10 minutes the woman comes to the front with a stack of records and sets them down in front of Christen. “Do you have good taste in music?” she asks. 

Her voice is warm and bright. It’s higher than Christen had expected, based purely on physical appearance, but it still has that easy, laid-back quality like her overall demeanor. She imagines the woman’s life as a saxophone solo mixed perfectly in with a lo-fi hip hop beat. Unique, edgy, but simultaneously effortlessly chill. In the back of her mind somewhere, she thinks she registers that the woman has gorgeous brown eyes. But she looks down at the records too quickly to really know.

“Um, well, I don’t really think there’s ‘good’ and ‘bad’ taste in music. It’s more a personal preference thing,” Christen offers, judiciously.

Without missing a beat the woman quips back, “I have a friend that refuses to listen to anything but Creed and Nickleback.”

Christen bursts into laugher, “Okay, you’ve got me there.” She smirks and replies, “But that’s more about being narrow minded, I mean I also primarily listen to Creed and Nickleback, but at least I also add in some Limp Bizkit. I mean their cover of George Michael’s Faith… just gives me chills.”

And when the stranger laughs, her laugh is rich and thick. Christen can hear how genuine it is. “No but really?” the woman asks. “Do you have good music taste umm—“ She pauses, glancing down at Christen’s chest, “ Christian?”

“It’s Christen. And I do happen to like my music taste, she says with a smile. Plus I work at a record store, so I might be vaguely knowledgeable.”

“Christen, sorry,” the woman fumbles. “You’d think with a name tag that big I’d be able to read it.” She kneads her thumbs into her hands. 

“They’re meant to be readable from far away, but alas, my parents cursed me with a name that looks like Christian to everyone, is spelled identically to christen—you know like when you get your name at church—but is pronounced like Kristen.” 

“I know the pain of an atypical name. My name is Tobin. Nobody ever expects that I’m a woman," she leans toward christen and puts the back of her hand beside her mouth, like she's going to share a secret and doesn't want anyone else in the record store to hear. "But I am!” 

Christen laughs and without thinking Christen reaches out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Tobin.”

“Nice to meet you too, Christen,” Tobin replies, accepting her hand. 

The touch is vaguely electric and Christen feels her pulse quicken slightly. They don’t let go immediately, they just sort of linger there, holding one another’s hands until the sound of the back door opening interrupts them.

Christen pulls her hand back and looks down, as if she’s a teenager whose parents just walked in on her about to kiss her crush. Her cheeks warm and she tries not to look at Tobin, whose hands still linger on the stack of vinyl.

She knows pulling back was an admission...

that she was feeling something.

that she was taken by the moment.

that there was something to be caught doing.

You just don’t react like that to someone catching you introducing yourself to a stranger.

“And what have we here?” Megan teases as she walks toward the front of the store. 

Christen’s cheeks grow warmer. She tries to play it cool, but her voice still sounds slightly strained as she pushes out the words, “Not much, P. Just helping this lovely customer here choose some music.” She realizes after she says it that she doesn’t actually know if that’s what she’s doing. They haven’t even discussed why Tobin asked her about her music taste.

To her great relief, Tobin jumps into the conversation: “Yep, I was just trying to get her to help me decide between a couple of albums, but she won’t tell me if she has good taste in music or not.”

Megan lets out a single, “Ha.” Her tone is a bit playful as she says, “She has the best music taste of anyone I know. Except for maybe me. You should see the sound system upstairs in her apartment, it’s set up to hear every intricacy of every song. She does prefer the sincere shit, though.”

And Christen feels like she might melt into the floor when Tobin says, “That sounds amazing, I’d love to see it sometime.”

And she feels like she should shove her own foot in her mouth when her reply comes without thought: “I’d love to show you.” She chokes on her own words, slightly, “I mean I love sharing it with people who love music.”

Tobin beams and for a moment Christen forgets where she is.

“How do you know she loves music?” Christen can hear the smirk in Megan’s voice as she says it.

“I do.” Tobin responds, her tone hopeful.

“I could just tell.” Christen replies with a shrug, feeling a small surge of regained confidence.

“Sureeee,” Megan teases. “Now, what is your question, dear stranger who loves music?”

“Tobin.” Christen corrects.

“Tobin.” Megan repeats with a knowing smirk, emphasizing both syllables.

Tobin chuckles. “Well I was trying to pick between these six records.”

She sorts through them, Christen considering each one. “Who are they for? You or someone else? A sibling? A romantic partner?”

And it’s not even a little bit smooth and Christen can hear Megan snicker quietly. But for her part, Tobin just casually answers: “Nah, just for me. I have siblings but they’re far away and have terrible taste in music. And, no, I have nobody to buy records for, romantically speaking.”

“Well, if you’re asking me, I think all six of these are great. I’d buy them all.”

Tobin raises an eyebrow at Christen, almost in challenge. “Oh, would you? Is that because you work at a record store and make money on selling more records? Or because they’re really all good?”

“Owns it.” Megan interjects. Tobin turns her head. “She owns the record store.” And Christen feels a bit embarrassed and shy about the correction, but also she knows it’s a little cool and a lot impressive. She enjoys seeing the corners of Tobin’s lips turn down and her eyebrows raise as her face shift to an expression that wordlessly says, “wow,” as she nods. 

“That’s irrelevant. They’re really all good. Great vinyl picks—albums you can really listen to all the way through without wanting to skip tracks. I’ll tell you what, if you buy four I’ll throw the last two in free.” Christen smirks, looking Tobin dead in the eye. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Christen. How about this: I’ll buy five, you throw one in free and you give me your number and you can consider whether you’ll let me come listen to one on your stereo?”

Christen is surprised by how forward the request is. Still, Tobin is funny, and cute, and has good taste in music. If nothing else, she should probably not shut this down before it ever has a chance. 

“She’ll take that deal.” Megan replies, already moving behind Christen and starting to scan the records. 

“Will I now?” Christen asks, trying to sound incredulous. 

“You will,” Megan asserts, as if there is no room for further discussion. “Now let me do the money stuff and you give Tobin your number.” 

Christen chews her lip for a minute, considering the possible consequences of sharing her number with this stranger. A beautiful stranger; a stranger whose presence feels like warm, relaxing music—but a stranger nonetheless. She really doesn’t know anything about Tobin, and Tobin doesn’t know anything about her. What if Tobin hates dogs? Or kids? Or helping other people? 

Before Christen can talk herself out of the deal, Tobin has her phone open, has typed the name 'Christen' in her contacts, and is handing it to her to fill in the rest of the details. She takes a deep breath and decides to take a chance, typing her number into Tobin’s phone. 

_What’s the worst that can happen?_

When Tobin leaves the store, Christen immediately turns to Megan. “Oh my god, P, why would I just give out my number like that? What if she is like some serial killer? Or what if doesn’t like me when she really gets to know me? What if my whole thing,” she gestures around her face, “is a deal breaker for her?”

“Chris, you won’t know until you try. Just give her a chance. Okay?”

“I guess you’re right.” Christen relents. 

* * *

When she gets off work that day, she finds she has a text message from Tobin. It’s a picture of one of the albums she bought spinning on a record player with the caption “This is great, thanks for the rec 🤙”

She types back, “You’re welcome, one of my favs. Is this Tobin?”

Three little dots pop up immediately, indicating Tobin is writing back. “Yep, Tobin Heath. Feel free to save my name and number. You must be giving it out to a lot of people if you’re having to ask who I am.”

She types, “lol, just you.” And immediately follows with “today, at least 😘”

They message back and forth a few more times, mostly discussing music: concerts they’ve seen, albums they love. It's basic conversation, the kind you have with any friend. Still, Christen can’t seem to stop smiling, her heart pumping just a little bit harder when she hears her message alert go off. 

* * *

The next day, she’s pulling records from the inventory to pack for shipping when she hears the bell on the door indicate someone has come in. She doesn’t bother looking up until she hears Megan call out, “Tobin! The girl from yesterday! I thought we might be seeing more of you around here.”

Christen glances toward the door, finding Tobin. Her hair is down, just like yesterday, but today she’s wearing slim-fitting jeans and a hoodie. She’s traded her 23 hat for a simple blue hat that matches her shoes. Still, it’s the same style she was wearing yesterday. She says something back to Megan, but Christen doesn’t hear her, genuinely caught up in how gorgeous she finds Tobin—even more so now that she knows her slightly better. 

“Hey, Chris,” Tobin calls, as she shuffles around the record bins to make her way back to Christen. Christen can practically feel the smirk Pinoe is directing her way. 

“Hey, Tobin,” she replies, ignoring whatever teasing gesture Megan has started to make. “What brings you in today? Need another 5-for-1 deal?”

“Ha, well, maybe I should listen to all of those before I buy more,” Tobin chuckles. “But no, I came to bring you a couple of my favs you haven’t heard of to check out.” Tobin pulls three vinyl records out of a tote bag and hands them to Christen.

“Wow, Tobin, that’s really sweet of you.” 

“Yeah, well, good music is meant to be shared, right?”

“Yes. Totally. Um, thanks!” Christen says, moving awkwardly toward Tobin for a hug, but wondering whether it’s too much. 

Tobin opens her arms and they share an awkward side hug. “You’re, um. You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy them.” Tobin’s excuse for seeing Christen seems to have run its course far more quickly than either intended, and they both search the air for what to do next. 

“Well, uh,” Tobin says, rubbing the back of her neck. “I guess that’s all, then. Enjoy!”

“Uh. Thanks” Christen feels her heart sink as Tobin turns to leave. 

She’s just out the door, Christen watching her go, when Megan appears beside Christen and snaps her fingers in front of her face. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Christen turns to her. “What? She and I texted about music and she brought me some records.”

“Why didn’t you, like, invite her over to listen to one or something?”

“I don’t know, P. I’ve got a lot going on right now and I like her and like what if I screw it all up?”

“Christen, if you never put yourself out there, you’re screwing it all up before you have a chance.”

Christen sighs and tells Megan she’ll “think about it.”

* * *

She listens to one of the albums that evening and texts Tobin about every song. She loves it. Maybe more than she would if Tobin hadn’t given it to her.

_Okay, definitely more than she would have if Tobin hadn't given it to her._

* * *

She’s standing at the deli counter in the local market the next evening when she hears someone call her name. She turns to find a woman in a fitted pant-suit with hair pulled back in a tight bun approaching her with a big smile. She is wearing big square-rimmed glasses that seem to magnify joy in her eyes.

She can tell by the look she’s receiving that the woman recognizes her, but Christen just can’t place her. She assumes it must be a customer from the shop. “Hi,” she offers with a broad smile and an attempt to hide the question in her voice. The woman definitely recognizes her. Like they know each other well. 

But if they really did—

Well—

She wouldn’t be approaching Christen like this. 

She opens her arms and Christen turns and gives her a side hug, clearly surprising the woman. Christen can feel her cheeks flush and stares down at the ground awkwardly. Unsure what to do or say. It’s just so awkward not to recognize someone. 

“So, um, how’s your day going?” The woman asks tentatively, clearly noticing the tension in Christen’s posture.

“Oh, pretty good. How about…”

Her question is cut off by the deli worker calling out her number. “Sorry, I have to get going.” She says pointing her thumb at the counter. “Sal waits for no woman, you know?”

The woman offers a small chuckle and Christen is glad she doesn’t push the issue. 

She heads home and listens to another one of Tobin’s records while she unloads her groceries. When she reaches out to tell Tobin, she doesn’t hear back. She assumes maybe she’s had a busy day at work and just doesn’t have time to chat that night. 

* * *

It happens again the next day with the same woman. At least Christen is pretty sure it’s the same woman. Of course, she still doesn’t recognize her. 

She’s at the cafe picking up coffee and lunch for herself and Megan. As she’s waiting for her order she hears someone call her name from across the room. 

She turns to find the woman in another well-fitted suit, square-rimmed glasses, and a tight bun. She just smiles and gives her a pleasant, if somewhat dismissive, wave just as her food arrives. She rushes from the cafe without looking back. 

* * *

“Thank you so much for the coffee. I felt like I was dying.” Megan exaggerates as she takes her first sip. She launches into a story about the morning shipment, the details of which Christen will certainly never remember. She’s lost in her own world, thinking back to the woman. _Who was she?_ Megan says something and then stops abruptly and studies Christen for a minute.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well I just told you I’m quitting and joining the circus and you nodded.”

“Oh? Shit, P. Sorry, I’m distracted. I had a weird run in at the cafe—someone who knew me but I didn’t know. I think I ran into her last night at the grocery store, too. She hugged me.”

“Oh. Sorry, Chris. I know you hate when that happens. I’m sure it’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

* * *

She listens to Tobin’s third record that evening but, again, doesn't hear back when she texts about it. 

She starts to wonder if Tobin has lost interest.

Maybe she did something wrong. 

_Of course she did something wrong._

* * *

The next day, she’s working the front of the store while one of their younger employees pulls records when that same woman walks in. Christen is not 100% sure it’s the same woman—she’s been avoiding looking at her, after all—but the glasses are the same and she’s wearing her hair in the same way, so she thinks it probably is. She calls out “Welcome to The Vinyl Countdown, I’m just going on my break, Lindsey here will help you.” And escapes to the break room forcing a co-worker to take over. She tells herself she’s being stupid, and should really just ask the woman who she is. Still, by the time she gets back out of the breakroom, Lindsey is the only one left in the store. 

When Christen asks her about the woman, Lindsey just shrugs and says she looked around a bit and left.

* * *

That weekend, she starts a routine with Megan where she comes up with a reason she scared Tobin away and shares it with Megan—“God maybe I seemed too clingy with the texting her through the whole album thing?”

Megan then insists, “I’m sure she’s just been busy, just text her,” ad infinitum. 

It takes about 12 different rounds for Megan to sound legitimately frustrated with Christen that Christen finally agrees to send a text. 

“Hi Tobin, I was wondering if you might like to get together again sometime? Maybe listen to some music?”

She sees the dots appear immediately, but then they disappear. 

She doesn’t hear back from Tobin until that night when she gets a short text: “Don’t worry about it, Chris. You don’t have to feel bad for me or anything.”

She sends several texts in a row that consist of some combination of question marks and the words what, why, and huh, but after the second one they turn from blue to green, suggesting Tobin shut her phone off. 

It stings a little bit.

Actually, it stings a lot. She’d thought she and Tobin had something special going, even for that brief moment. 

* * *

A week goes by, and she finally texts, “Do you want me to mail your records back? Or I can just put them under the counter at the front of the shop and you can get them from whoever is working.”

Tobin replies, “I’ll stop by sometime.” 

But she doesn’t. 

* * *

Two weeks go by and finds her thoughts of Tobin more and more infrequent. A _thing_ that never was. 

* * *

The next week, she’s shelving records when she hears the bell indicating someone is coming in the store. She looks up and finds the woman—same pulled back hair, the same tight-fitting suit she was wearing at the deli, square-rimmed glasses. Christen glances back down at her crate rapidly, but feels the woman’s eyes on her. 

“Can I help you?” she hears Megan call. It sounds a little more curt than is typical. 

Christen takes the opportunity to turn toward the back of the shop and escape to the break room. She shuts the door and can hear them having a muffled conversation. Megan sounds upset—her tone incredulous and frustrated. She finds her phone and texts Megan, “P. That’s the woman from the grocery and cafe.”

Hears Megan’s phone vibrate in her bag and she knows she’ll get an alert on her watch.

“OH MY GOD!” Megan yells. “Christen! Come here.”

It doesn’t sound like Megan is in danger— 

And Christen really doesn’t want to go out there—

“Chris! Come here this is important!” she hears Megan call again.

She takes a deep breath and tries to put on a smile as she makes her way back into the shop. She finds the woman staring at her in anticipation and Megan mumbling something to her, like she’s sharing a secret. 

The woman starts to speak. 

“Cri—”

“Shh!” Megan chastises, cutting her off. 

“Christen, dear, this lovely lady and I have an important question for you.”

Christen feels put on the spot. Her cheeks go red and she finds her voice weak, “What, P?”

“Christen, do you recognize this woman?”

Christen stares at her for a long moment, racking her brain for any memory of the woman other than the cafe. She finds nothing. Her face red she stumbles out, “Listen— um— I’m really sorry, ma’am, but— uh— um— I don’t. I’m sorry, I’m just bad with—”

The stranger looks outraged, “What the fu—”

“Shh!” Megan chides again.

“Ma’am, will you do me a favor? Take your hair down, take off your glasses, and take off your suit jacket.” Megan instructs.

Christen watches the stranger open her mouth to protest and Megan cuts her off, “Please, just try.”

She grumbles, “Fine,” under her breath. She takes her glasses and jacket off and sets them on the counter. She’s wearing a fitted t-shirt underneath. Christen can’t help but marvel at how good she looks. She has a toned body and beautiful full lips. She feels terrible that she’s forgotten such a beautiful stranger.

The woman takes her hair tie out and shakes it loose, letting it fall over her shoulders. Megan grabs one of the store’s hats and places it on the woman’s head.

It’s as if a fog has cleared as Christen suddenly realizes—

“Oh my god.” Christen says, looking wide-eyed at Megan. “Is it?”

“Yeah.” Megan confirms. 

“Tobin?” Christen asks, turning to the woman as if she’s playing _Guess Who_. 

“Yes, who the hell else would I be?” Tobin answers. 

And it clicks for Christen then—why the woman seemed so taken aback by Christen's behavior. 

“Oh my god. I— I— Prosopagnosia.” It’s the only word she can force out. 

“Proso— what? Are you, like, trying to cast a spell on me?” Tobin asks, shaking her head at herself for the joke.

“Face blindness,” Megan adds. “Christen is face blind.” 

“You’re what?” Tobin asks, turning to Christen.

“I’m face blind. I— I can’t recognize people’s faces.”

“That’s not a real thing. That can’t be a real thing.” Tobin counters looking between Christen and Megan.

“Well it is, asshole.” Megan sounds perturbed again.

Christen looks down at the floor. She’s suddenly regretting that she didn’t tell Tobin right away. She hadn’t figured she would run into her when she wasn’t expecting her, and Tobin’s wardrobe had just been so—different— that it hadn’t even occurred to her that the woman at the grocery store might be Tobin. 

“It is,” She assures. “It’s called prosopagnosia. It’s the inability to remember faces. It’s why we have these giant name tags here.” She inhales slowly and then exhales intentionally, keeping her eyes cast on the floor. “Sorry, I, uh, should have told you.”

“So, you’re telling me that when you blew me off...three times...you didn’t know who I was?”

“I didn’t. Actually, I felt really embarrassed, because you clearly knew me and I had no idea who you were. I kind of rushed away.”

“Yeah, it seemed like you were dodging me,” she admits.

“Yeah, I kind of was... God, Tobin. I’m so sorry.”

“Wow, I’m sorry too. I wish I would have known. I was so cold to you. I was just, like, so pissed off that you were— well that you didn’t seem to want to see me after we had such a great time texting and talking about music. I just figured you didn't actually like girls or something.”

“OKAY, well that's my cue.” Megan interjects, reminding Christen and Tobin they’re not alone. “I’m gonna take 15 and let you kids talk some more. "

When Megan is gone Christen turns to Tobin.

“I do. Like girls. Well, right now, girl. I like you. Again, I’m really sorr—.”

“Chris, stop. Listen, what if we start over?”

“What do you mean?”

Tobin extends her hand toward Christen. “Hi, I’m Tobin. Tobin Heath. What’s your name?”

Christen smirks back, “Tobin? Nice to meet you. Christen Press.” She extends her hands to shake Tobin’s. 

“Christen? I have three questions for you.”

“Okayyy…” Christen says, raising her eyebrows.

“First, do you have any medical conditions I haven’t heard of before that might make you unable to recognize me in public?”

“In fact, Tobin, I do. What a lucky guess. I have a neurological condition called prosopagnosia, or face blindness. If you change your appearance in any meaningful way, I might not recognize you.”

“Okay. Good to know. Question 2: Christen, can I just say? You’re really beautiful. I feel like I haven't been able to look away from you since I first saw you. Would you be interested in going on a date with me tomorrow night?”

“Wow, Tobin. That’s very forward of you given that we’ve only just met and you only know me as a girl with a neurological condition.”

“Well, then, before you answer Question 2, you can answer Question 3 for me: Do you happen to have good taste in music?”

“Um, well, I don’t really think there’s ‘good’ and ‘bad’ taste in music. It’s more a personal preference thing, but some people have told me that they like what I like.”

“Well, good, because I have excellent taste in music and I wanted to see if you’d be down for some food and music? Something low key.” She pauses before adding, “I have an okay sound set up. Know where we might be able to find a really good one?” 

Christen laughs out loud. “I do happen to have an amazing sound system, if you’d like to check it out. I just live right upstairs from here. But, did you just invite me on a date to my own apartment? You move fast Tobin Heath.”

Tobin's eyes widen and she looks slightly sheepish as she replies, “Oh, um. I guess I did. I’ve just been thinking about listening to music with you since that first night you texted me. I— uh— I’ll buy the booze and the food and will bring the music, you just supply the venue?”

“Sounds nice. We close at 8 tomorrow. Meet me here?” 

* * *

Tobin shows up to the store the next day at closing time with a bag of take-out, two bottles of wine, and a few of her favorite records. She’s wearing the exact same outfit she wore the first time Christen met her: a Joy Division t-shirt, grey joggers, Nike sneakers, and a black "23" snapback.

“I’ll be right there!” Christen calls, finishing up the last bit of cataloguing for the day. When she finishes, Christen finds Tobin standing with her back against the front window, playing on her phone. “Hey!” she calls, recognizing the register in her voice is about an octave higher than typical. 

“Hey.” Tobin says back, pocketing her phone and opening her arms to hug Christen. 

When they embrace, it’s not stilted or sideways: it’s warm and welcoming, like seeing an old friend. 

“Much better,” Tobin says as they pull apart. She seems to notice what she’s said after it leaves her mouth. 

“I— I just—” she stammers.

Christen finds it charming—that she already gets Tobin a bit out of sorts like this. She really wouldn’t have pegged Tobin as someone to get her feathers ruffled by saying the wrong thing. “Feeling awkward?” Christen replies back.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m a little— out of practice at this.” Tobin admits. 

“What? You don’t pick up girls at record stores every week? Could have fooled me!” Christen jokes. 

“Nope!” Tobin laughs. “You’re only the third in a month. I had to take a week off because I was getting tired of taking the bridge over to Memphis. Luckily, I read on the downtown facebook page that there was a record shop right here in downtown."

Christen chuckles, “I’m glad our massive advertising campaign is working. That post got at least 12 likes.”

“Actually, I’ve walked by this place a few times when you were closed and i’ve always kind of stared in the window and intended to stop in. I was super impressed. Y’all have a great selection!”

“Oh, is this where you tell me you’re doing this for the discount?” Christen goads. 

“You caught me. That’s it. I am not at all interested in spending time with you because you’re maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in person. Or because you’re hilarious. Or because you got great taste in music.” Christen can feel herself blushing as Tobin speaks. “No it's for the… 10-percent? discount.”

“35 percent.” Christen corrects.

“Damn! Well, hot dog!” Tobin hollers exaggeratedly. “I definitely want a couple of dates, then!”

Christen laughs as she watches Tobin chuckling at her own joke. “Keep complimenting me like that and I just might be willing to let you buy me dinner sometime.”

“Well how about now?” Tobin replies, holding up the bag of to-go food.

As they listen to music and eat food, they talk lazily about everything and nothing at all: How Christen inherited the building—an old hardware store from her grandfather. How Tobin remembers buying washers there when she was a kid. How both of them have thought about moving to Tennessee, but decided to stay because of the better prices and their aging parents. 

They’re one wine bottle down, two records in, sitting in front of three half-eaten Chinese to-go containers, when Tobin sits up abruptly. “Here!” she calls.

“What?” Christen asks, looking around, confused.  
“Shhh!” Tobin chides, turning up the volume on the speakers with the remote. 

Tobin starts to pretend play a piano in the air in front of her. “Righttttt….” She plays a few more notes and then slides her hand down the invisible keys striking a unique and stunning pattern as it carries through the speakers. She keeps playing the rhythm on her air piano with her left hand as she starts to direct the singer's voice with her right. She moves her hand up and down as the pitch shifts and taps out the rhythm of the melody against the air just as the song crescendos and hits a final drawn out note.

Christen claps wildly as the song fades out. “Bravo!” she calls.

“But did you like it?” Tobin asks. 

“Yeah, Tobes. It was gorgeous.” Christen says, trying to ignore how easily the nickname just flowed from her lips. At least she stops herself from saying, “you’re gorgeous”

Tobin continues, “God, this setup is amazing. That part always hits me but like I think the bass line on that shifted my heartbeat for a second—I could feel that whole thing in my chest. 

“I know, I love listening to things in here. It took me months to get everything perfect, but now I feel like I get to know every song really intimately. I love just sitting here on Sunday mornings, drinking coffee, and listening to songs I think I know well, to see the secret things the artists hid inside. All of those small bits they agonized over that pretty much everyone misses—the hiss of the mic dropping out, the slight rush of a cord in the bridge, the quiet hum of a background vocal you didn’t even notice filled out the vocal range—it’s just so…”

“Beautiful.” Tobin finishes.

“Yeah.” Christen confirms, looking at Tobin, who is staring at her intently. “Chris, would it be okay if I?” Tobin slides down the couch closer to Christen, as she swallows thickly. 

“Yes.” She nods and parts her lips slightly, watching Tobin’s expression shift from one of apprehension to one of determination and want. She moves slowly into Christen’s space, taking Christen’s cheek in her hand and then bringing her lips into Christen’s gradually, giving her the chance to change her mind. 

When their lips finally touch, it sends a wave down through Christen’s chest and through her stomach, settling low and pulling down further. Tobin’s full lips are slightly chapped, but they are far from uncomfortable. In fact, the kiss feels a little like coming home after a really long day. 

Christen slides her hand up behind Tobin’s head and pulls their lips together harder, deepening the kiss, imbuing it with meaning and want. She lets herself feel it, get lost in it; she releases herself into it. 

She finds herself sinking down, pulling Tobin on top of her, until she is on her back on the couch and Tobin’s thigh is between her legs as their bodies move together, controlled entirely by want. They hum and nip and gasp as they kiss each other harder and their hands start to roam. 

Christen’s hands find their way under Tobin’s shirt as she rakes her nails across Tobin’s back, pulling her in harder, and then runs her fingers lightly over Tobins ribs, hands crawling higher.

“Fuck.” Tobin moans as Christen’s hands slide around her. She sits up, taking her weight off of her arms and leaning back. “Fuck. Wow.”

“Yeah,” Christen replies breathlessly. 

“Look, Chris, you’re really hot but—”

“But?”

“I feel like this is really fast and I really like you. Can we just—?”

“Slow down for a second?” Christen offers, empathetically.

“Yeah.” 

“I’m good with that.”

They spend the rest of the night kissing and laughing and listening to songs and by the time they finish their second bottle of wine, Christen is starting to feel like it’s getting late. She checks her phone. “Jesus, is it really 3:30 in the morning?”

Tobin’s eyes go wide as she checks her watch. “Holy shit, yeah.” She pauses, studying her watch some more. She looks about as tired as Christen feels. “Hey, um, Chris?” her words weary. “Are you good to drive? I hate to ask you for a ride but I don’t know if there’ll be any ubers going and I don’t think i should drive. I guess I could walk—.”

“Tobin, don’t be silly. Stay here.” Christen insists. 

As she realizes what she might seem to be implying she adds, “No expectations or anything. You can crash in my bed with me or on the couch or wherever." 

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Christen says. 

And she is. She agrees they should take it slow, but she doesn’t want to lose tonight. She doesn’t want the moment to end.

She wakes the next morning in Tobin’s arms, her clothes on Tobin’s back, as her phone alarm sounds. She shuffles cautiously out of Tobin’s embrace and slides from the bed, tiptoeing from the room and starting a pot of coffee. 

She gets ready for the day, smiling every time she walks in the room and finds Tobin, still asleep, reaching out to where Christen once laid. She finally pours a mug of coffee and brings it to the room, kissing Tobin on the cheek and whispering in her ear. “Tobes, I have to go down to the shop.”

Tobin grunts back. 

“There’s some coffee here, just come downstairs when you’re done.”

“Yeah.” Tobin replies, like this is normal. Like Christen leaves her here all the time. And Christen can’t find it in herself to be bothered by it. It feels perfectly natural to leave her here, even after one date. She doesn’t even think about what Megan might say.

“Okay.” Christen leans down and kisses Tobin once more before she starts to walk to the door. It feels incredibly domestic, something way beyond where they are together, and yet it doesn’t feel wrong at all. 

She’s about to walk out the door when she hears Tobin calling out “Chris, Chris, Chris,” her voice growing rapidly nearer.

“Oh my god.” Tobin says, out of breath. “I am so sorry, I am such a heavy sleeper. You said you’re leaving? I can change and go right now.”

“Don’t worry about it Tobin. Take your time. Feel free to just come downstairs when you feel like it and bring those back to me next time.” Christen offers, attempting to wink. 

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I like that. Next time. I want a lot of next times.”

“Me too."

* * *

When Christen gets upstairs that evening she finds a bouquet of flowers in a vase on her kitchen counter. Below them is a note where Tobin scrawled, “Thank you for an amazing night. I can’t wait to have more. - T.” She smiles like a fool the rest of the evening. 

* * *

The next time she sees Tobin is three days later, Tobin picks her up and they drive across the bridge to catch a live show in Memphis. Tobin wears the same Joy Division t-shirt, grey joggers, Nike sneakers, and a black snapback.

* * *

For their third date, they go to the nicest restaurant in town (not that it’s really all that _nice_ , but it’s good to support local businesses). Tobin arrives wearing the same Joy Division t-shirt, grey joggers, Nike sneakers, and a black snapback she wore on their first two dates. Christen smiles at her curiously, but decides maybe that’s just Tobin’s favorite outfit. 

* * *

When she shows up the next day at the record shop with flowers wearing the exact same outfit, though, Christen has to ask.

“Hey, Tobes? Did you, like, lose all of your other clothes?”

“What do you mean?” Tobin asks, feigning innocence

“Well, you, like, have worn that outfit, like, four times this week. I get that you like it but have you, like, washed it?”

Tobin grins at her, “Oh, these old things? Nah I just own 7 of these shirts and pants. The hat is the same though. Does it smell or something?”

Christen laughs, “Seriously? You just like the shirt that much? To own seven of them?”

“No.” Tobin’s face gets noticeably redder. “I just like you that much. I just didn’t want you to not recognize me, so I ordered a bunch of them with rush shipping after our first date.”

“You—? You’re wearing the same outfit for me? So I’ll recognize you?”

Tobin shifts her eyes down, “Yeah. Um. Sorry. Is that dumb?”

“No.” Christen replies, in awe of the gesture. “I think it might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Well, um… I just never wanted to make you uncomfortable again. And I never want you to forget me.” Tobin says, her voice soft and a bit shy. 

Christen studies Tobin for a long second before she starts snickering.

“What?” Tobin asks, eyes wide. 

“Tobes, you know you could have just, like, sent me a selfie of your outfit or announced yourself when I encountered you unexpectedly, right?”

“Oh. Uh.” She fumbles. “I guess I just—”

Christen cuts her off with a searing kiss. “You guess you’re just super romantic?”

* * *

And from then on, Tobin texts Christen a picture of herself every day, just so Christen will know what she’s wearing. And she wears that same outfit every time she surprises Christen at work. She does it almost 200 times before they start sharing a closet and it’s simply not necessary anymore.

And one day she sees herself in the mirror and she notices it: she's glowing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Here_to_read_1818 and Kingborommokat28 for looking at drafts of this and to freshtilapia for the record shop name. 
> 
> Researchers estimate that about 2% of adults (1 in 50 people) have [Prosopagnosia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prosopagnosia). Many people aren't diagnosed until they are adults, and some may never be diagnosed. If you're curious about yourself, you can take a face-memory test [here](https://openpsychometrics.org/tests/EBFMT/) or complete a self-report scale [here](https://troublewithfaces-org.webs.com/test-yourself-1).


End file.
